


Jingle All the Way

by mahbecks



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Jokes, Christmas, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: It's an Eisner Christmas tradition to compete - and win - in the annual Garreg Mach Holiday Ale Run. But when Jeralt sprains his ankle the week before they're due to race, Byleth has to make alternate plans.Much to her father's chagrin, Byleth suggests Felix as his replacement.Nothing goes according to plan.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	Jingle All the Way

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! :)
> 
> This is one step up from being crack
> 
> I have no regrets

“Bad news, kid.”

Byleth frowned, ducking into a side street and turning against the wind so she could hear her father better over the phone. “What is it?” she asked, worry tugging at her despite herself. It wasn’t bad, she told herself. He was calling her. He was _talking_ to her, calmly, cool and collected. 

He wouldn’t be doing that if something serious had happened.

Jeralt sighed. “Tripped over a stray cat today at the build site.”

“Are you alright?”

“Rolled the ankle pretty bad. Went and saw the doc around lunch; it’s not broken, he said, but the whole thing’s black and blue. Hurts like a bitch.”

“And the cat?”

He snorted. “Cat’s fine.”

“Good.” Breathing out a soft sigh of relief, she hefted her bag up higher onto her shoulder and asked, “Did you go home?”

“Confined myself to the office,” he replied.

“You should’ve gone home.”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, not quite disagreeing with her. “I’m taking it easy. Even made Alois foreman for the day.”

“...that sounds dangerous.”

“I had my reservations, but the project’s almost complete now. How much harm could he do?”

A lot.

Alois was full of good intentions, but the Goddess hadn’t seen fit to bless him with the brains to match his innovation. Byleth worried for the integrity of this construction project.

She said as much, and Jeralt laughed. “I hear you, kid, but I can’t go hobbling around on one leg to inspect his work. Besides, Shamir’s helping out. She’ll keep him in line.”

“Hobbling?” Byleth asked. “You can’t walk?”

“I can… amble.”

“They didn’t give you crutches?”

“I didn’t want any. You know I hate the damn things.”

She did - a few years back, Jeralt really _had_ fractured one of the bones in his leg, and the entire time, he’d insisted on wearing just a medical boot. Crutches hurt, he’d said, and he’d never quite figured out how to move quickly with them. 

Byleth had pointed out you weren’t _supposed_ to move quickly with crutches, taking it easy to aid the healing process, but he’d just waved her off. 

Stubborn old goat.

“But speaking of, that’s something else I wanted to tell you - Saturday’s a bust, kid. There’s no way I can do the race now.”

Byleth blinked, thinking back over her schedule. Had they had a lunch date set up? Fishing trip? Surely she’d have remembered something like that-

Oh.

Saturday. The annual Garreg Mach Holiday Ale Run. 

It was something they did every year, her and Jeralt - they ran the tag-team race. A two mile run, it was divided up into eight quarter-mile laps. Partners would alternate, and at the end of each lap, you had to chug a beer. The winner got a trophy and a month’s supply of beer, delivered straight to the doorstep - keg or six-packs, winner’s choice.

She’d completely forgotten about it.

But Jeralt was right, sadly; there was no way he’d be able to do the race with a sprained ankle. Not competitively, at least. And what was the point of doing a race if you weren’t going to try and compete? She and Jeralt had a win streak to uphold here. 

Not to mention if they ever lost a race, their next door neighbor, Seteth, wouldn't let them hear the end of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he reiterated, interpreting her silence as disappointment. “I know it’s tradition.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, I know. Still.” He paused, a quiet rustling indicating he was shifting around, making himself comfortable. “Hey, here’s an idea - why don’t you find a replacement for me?”

“A replacement?”

“Yeah - they’ll accept transfers until the day before the race, right? Find a new partner and go get ‘em.”

It _was_ the obvious solution. She quickly considered her options, running through her list of friends to try and see which was most likely to join her in such a last-minute endeavor. 

As always, the choice was clear.

“How about Felix?”

Jeralt was silent for a moment. 

“Gee, I don’t know, kid-”

“He runs,” Byleth insisted. “And he’s pretty good, too.”

“Has he ever beaten you in a foot race?”

“Well, no.”

“You don’t think he’ll slow you down?”

“ _You’ve_ never beaten me either,” she pointed out.

Jeralt huffed. “That’s different,” he retorted.

“How so?”

“I’m _sixty._ ”

She scoffed. “You were semi-professional for _years-_ ”

“I’m just saying, let’s weigh all our options here. We’ve got a streak to maintain, and I’ll be damned if that priss Seteth breaks it. What about Catherine?”

“Dad.”

“I could probably ask Alois to do it. That guy’ll do anything I say, I swear-”

“ _Dad._ ”

“Oh, fine.” Defeated, Jeralt let out a grumpy sigh. “But if he messes this up-”

“You’ll what?” she demanded, intent on calling his bluff. “What will you do to your future son-in-law?”

“I’ll-” 

He fell silent, unable to make good on his threat without the use of a blatant lie, and Byleth grinned, victorious.

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” She glanced down at her watch, checking the time. “He should have just gotten off work a few minutes ago. Let me call him and see if he’s up for it.”

Jeralt sighed. “I want that beer, kid.”

“I know.”

“And the trophy.”

“Your mantle would look naked without it.”

“That’s my girl.”

After securing a promise that he would, in fact, take care of his twisted ankle, Byleth set off down the street again, this time heading towards her train. She dialed Felix’s number as she walked, hoping she’d catch him before he’d plugged in at the gym. Once he’d started a workout, he wouldn’t answer for anyone, no matter how important the matter was.

She’d learned that one the hard way, after realizing she’d bought everything for ice cream sundaes _except_ for ice cream.

He hadn’t gotten her messages to bring back a pint of Rocky Arianrhod for _hours._

Luckily for her, this time he picked up after the second ring.

“Yes?”

“Felix,” she breathed, smiling despite herself. 

He huffed. “Yes?” he repeated.

“Are you doing anything Saturday?”

“You know I’m not,” he retorted.

She did. She had his usual schedule memorized at this point, and Felix wasn’t one for spontaneity. But she figured it was always nice to ask. 

Just in case.

“So you’re free? No plans?”

“ _Byleth,_ ” he said, exasperated with her already. “What’s going on?”

“How’d you like to run a race with me?”

* * *

“What,” Felix demanded, “is _that_?”

Byleth held up a pair of running tights and a long-sleeved shirt. The shirt had been easy enough; she’d found one on sale in the sporting goods store, thanking the Goddess that red was in fashion this time of year. The leggings, though - those had been the difficult part. She’d ended up having to find a costume shop for those; striped red and white, like a candy cane, they were less sweat-wicking and more spandexy than she’d have liked, but considering how last minute this whole thing was, she was lucky to have found Felix a costume at all. 

Jeralt’s tights certainly wouldn’t have fit him.

“It’s your costume,” she replied, tossing the clothes to him. “For the race.”

He caught them with a deft hand, eyes narrowed in disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Byleth reached back into her bag, pulling out a santa hat and the racing belt she’d bought along with the shirt. “Don’t forget these.”

Felix held up the belt by a finger, as if he might catch cooties. “Since when do elves wear _fanny packs_?” he demanded.

“It was all I could find,” she said, shrugging. 

“I am _not_ -”

“It was either that or a leather belt, and I figured this would chafe less. Your choice.”

He glared at said fanny pack, but begrudgingly started changing into his selected racing attire. “Is there anything else?” he demanded, stripping off his t-shirt. “I draw the line at make-up.”

“Elves don’t wear make-up.”

“Good.”

“But I do need your running shoes.” 

“...why?”

“So I can make them into elf shoes.”

“ _What_?”

“It’s only temporary,” she said quickly, pulling out the pointy felt attachments she’d hand-made several years ago. “We string them on through your shoe laces, and then you can pull them off later.”

He eyed the inserts darkly as he pulled on the leggings. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s a themed race, Felix. Everyone looks ridiculous.”

“How does this even stay on, anyways?” he demanded, holding up the santa hat. In doing so, the elastic strap that would keep it taut around the neck fell loose.

Byleth smiled, unable to hide her amusement any longer. “It’s a strap-on,” she deadpanned.

Felix let out a string of curses sure to earn him a spot on the naughty list.

After she’d finished lacing up his shoes, Byleth stood back to admire her handiwork. All things considered, she thought it was quite a look - she’d really managed to pull this off. Felix looked very festive in his costume, the red contrasting brilliantly with his dark hair and fair skin. He was already blushing, though whether from embarrassment or annoyance, she couldn’t tell. 

Adorable.

“Final touch,” she said, pulling a set of suspenders out of the bag. “You don’t have to put these on until we’re ready to race. But I do expect you to wear them.”

Felix looked apoplectic. “What,” he asked quietly, “are those?”

Byleth blinked, jostling one of the suspenders so that a tinkling sound filled the air.

“Jingle bells,” she replied.

“If you think I am wearing those while I am running-”

“Come on, we need to get going so we have time to warm up.” She turned, not giving him time to argue as she headed for the car.

“ _Byleth_ -”

“Dad’s going to meet us there.”

“ _Jingle bells_?!”

“Oh, what fun it is-”

“Don’t you dare-”

“-to run a beer mile on this day~”

Very grumpy, and having ignored her slightly off-key singing, Felix got in the car and pouted, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face. “Why did I agree to this?” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Byleth answered anyway.

“Because you love me.”

“Fuck.”

Jeralt was already there when they arrived; Byleth found him sitting on the bleachers surrounding the race track, a cup of coffee dwarfed in his gloved hands. His ankle, she noticed, was booted once again, though he didn’t favor the leg as he stood up to greet them.

“Hey, kid,” he said, shooting her a soft smile. His gaze hardened as he turned to Felix, giving him a brusque nod. “Felix. Nice suit.”

“It’s terrible,” Felix said flatly.

Jeralt snorted, turning back to Byleth. “Afraid I got some more bad news, kid.”

“There’s more?” she asked, eyebrows raised. 

“The beer shipment didn’t come in last night.”

Byleth and Felix both stared at him blankly, uncomprehending. He sighed, forced to elaborate. “There’s no beer. The cases they ordered got backlogged, something like that.”

“They can’t go to a store?” Felix demanded.

“With what money?” Jeralt shot back. “They blew it all on the cheap stuff.”

Byleth frowned, trying not to let her disappointment show. “So no beer?” 

“Not a drop.”

Felix, who wasn’t much of a beer guy, couldn’t have looked less concerned. “What do we drink now, water?”

Jeralt chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “That’d be too easy.”

“Then what?” Byleth asked, frowning. “What else would they make us-”

“Byleth! Felix!” 

A very cheerful looking Alois bumbled up just then, two plastic cups in his hands, wearing a bright red sweater emblazoned with the phrase “There’s Some Ho Ho Ho’s in This House”. 

“How are you kids doing this morning? Looking very festive I see!” He laughed. “‘Tis the season!” 

“You get the stuff?” Jeralt asked.

“Got it right here!” Alois said, shoving the cups forward. A bit of whatever was inside - something white and creamy - slopped over his hands, and he hissed. “Shoot! Goddess, that’s cold!”

Jeralt took one of the cups, the one Alois hadn’t spilled all over himself, and looked down at the liquid in distaste before handing it to Byleth. “Bottoms up, kid.”

Eggnog.

She’d recognize the smell anywhere. Nutmeg, cinnamon, the sharp bite of alcohol - it brought back a million holiday memories of her and Jeralt, a badly decorated evergreen tree in one corner of the living room, a fire roaring in the other, Christmas dinner plated on the tray tables they’d used in lieu of a dining room table. She could almost taste the fish he’d cook every year, flaky and crispy, sitting next to a platter of fries that could feed a small army. 

The eggnog had come later, thankfully - dairy didn’t mix particularly well with trout. 

Wait

Dairy. 

Oh, _shit._

Byleth turned to Felix, wide-eyed. “Felix-”

“No.”

Jeralt raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” Felix repeated, more insistent. “I can’t.”

“He cannot,” Byleth agreed, remembering the last time Felix had accidentally eaten dairy products.

Those had been dark times in the Eisner-Fraldarius apartment, dark times indeed. A pact had been made to never speak of such things again.

But Jeralt wasn’t privy to this agreement, and so he just stared at Felix with an inscrutable expression on his face. 

“Felix is lactose intolerant,” she clarified, looking down at the eggnog in her hands. “He can’t drink eggnog.”

Jeralt’s eyes narrowed. “How intolerant?”

Felix huffed. “I’ll shit my fucking pants if I drink that,” he snapped. 

“Literally?” Alois piped up. “Or figuratively?”

Felix opened his mouth, but Byleth beat him to it. “Let’s see if we can flag down a race official,” she said quickly, handing Alois back the cup. 

She took Felix by the hand a moment later, dragging him away before things got nasty. Felix let himself be distracted, though that didn’t stop him from muttering under his breath and glaring over his shoulder at the two men. 

“So what’s our plan?” she asked. 

“Plan?” he demanded, turning back towards her. 

“What do we do now?”

“I thought you wanted to find a race official.”

Oh. Yeah. That.

She looked about, trying to see if she could distinguish the racers from the event staff. Normally, it would have been easy - the people who worked races often wore a special t-shirt, some bright yellow or green monstrosity that had been specially made for the day’s event. Today, though, everyone was wearing something vaguely garish - there were bright red santa suits, people dressed up as reindeer, a few people painted green as the Grinch. Picking an official out of this crowd would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

They didn’t have time for that. A quick glance down at her watch confirmed that they had maybe twenty minutes to spare before the race began.

“Come on,” she said, tugging at Felix’s arm. “Let’s warm up. Maybe we’ll find someone on the way.”

Felix didn’t look very convinced, but fell into step behind her just the same. 

They did a couple of loops around the track, Byleth trying and failing to identify anyone who could help them. She did manage to corner a volunteer - but the girl had looked terrified when she’d turned around to find Byleth running at a dead sprint towards her, and they hadn’t managed to get any information out of her before she’d thrown her raffle tickets up in the air and fled.

“What if you just drank it all?”

Byleth paused halfway through her stretching routine, looking up through her bangs. “What?”

“We have to drink eight cups of eggnog, one after each lap,” Felix explained. “It doesn’t say _who_ has to drink them.”

Huh.

A loophole.

“Eight glasses of eggnog,” she mused, shifting into a different position.

Could she do it?

Yes.

Would she regret it?

Undoubtedly. 

A whole lot depended on how much alcohol they were spiking the eggnog _with_ \- a dash of rum was one thing. If they were putting entire _shots_ of alcohol in each glass, well. She was in for a real bad time.

But it wasn’t like they really had a choice, here. Felix physically couldn’t drink eggnog. Their only other option would be to not complete the race, and after seeing the infuriatingly triumphant look on Seteth’s face when he'd seen Jeralt’s injury, there was no way in _hell_ that was happening. 

“This is a bad decision,” she announced, straightening.

Felix snorted. “Of course it is,” he said. Together, they headed over towards the starting line. “Are you still gonna do it?”

“Hell yeah.”

The first lap was alright.

She leapt forward as soon as the starting gun went off, legs working furiously as she set off around the track. It was faster than her usual pace, faster than what she’d normally run for a distance event. But this time, she could afford the extra speed; she had a whole lap to recover after she finished chugging the eggnog, a whole minute and a half (give or take) to rest while it was Felix’s turn.

The cold wind pulled at her hair and stung her eyes, the jingle bells on her suspenders chiming merrily with each step. She was already ahead of the pack by several feet, having pulled away after the first turn. But it was a small lead, one that could easily be overtaken. They’d have to keep up the pressure if they wanted to maintain the margin. 

Felix came into view as she rounded the last turn; he was standing at the start line, a cup of what could only be eggnog in his hands. He was practically bouncing on his feet, waiting for her to finish up. 

She barely slowed as she approached him, taking the cup with one hand and slinging it back as fast as she dared. 

One mouthful in, and she choked.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she wheezed, forcing down another gulp. “What _is_ that?”

“Eggnog,” Felix said. “What the fuck else-”

“No, what’s _in_ the eggnog?”

“Rum?” he offered.

“Vodka!” a volunteer piped up. 

Byleth turned towards this helpful soul, demanding, “ _Why_?”

“We, uh, had to use what we had on hand,” the volunteer offered, laughing nervously. “Beggars can’t be choosers, and all.”

“Fucking _fuck._ ”

“Bad?” Felix guessed.

“ _Terrible._ ”

“Hurry up, so I can run.”

Byleth choked the rest of it down, tossing the cup into the garbage, and Felix was off. She couldn’t watch, even as he extended their lead by another couple of feet; she was too busy holding her head to the sky, praying to whatever holiday spirits were listening that she didn’t lose her breakfast. 

Sooner than she’d like, Felix finished his lap, and she was downing a second glass of the cursed drink. She didn’t breathe this time, holding her nose and chugging it down in the space of a few seconds.

Somewhere in the background, over the din, she heard Jeralt cheering. She looked over to see him and Alois hollering for all they were worth; Alois had even brought a bright red foam finger, and Jeralt had secured a pair of reindeer antlers to his head.

“That’s my girl!” 

The pride in his voice was enough to spur her on, and she set off for her second lap.

This time, it wasn’t so easy. The eggnog made her feel sluggish, and she could taste cheap vodka on her tongue with each breath she took. 

Of all the alcohols to have on hand - where had they gotten vodka, a frat boy’s trunk? It wasn't even _good_ vodka; no, it was the cheap stuff, the shit you bought for seven bucks a handle, the sort that smelled like straight rubbing alcohol. She shuddered, trying not to think of the next cup she’d have to down at the end of this next time around the track.

Felix looked oddly sympathetic the next time she saw him. It quickly turned to revulsion.

“That's disgusting,” he commented, watching as she scarfed it down.

“You want some?” she snapped, holding the cup out.

His nose wrinkled. “No.”

“Then _stop talking._ ”

One last gulp and the third cup was completed. 

She put her hands above her head, breathing through her nose to try and settle her stomach. Across the way, she sensed rather than saw Seteth smirking at her.

“Is something the matter, Byleth?” he crowed. “Eggnog not sitting right?”

“Shut up, Seteth,” she retorted.

Her nemesis chuckled, leisurely tossing an empty cup into the garbage. “I’ve never seen you look so discomfited,” he mused. “Normally, you and Jeralt are certain of your victory.”

 _Ignore him._

“But this time… well, forgive me for saying so, but you might just lose.”

_Tune him out._

She looked for Felix, just finishing up the back stretch, trying to focus on him instead of her green-haired foe. Flayn, Seteth’s daughter and racing partner, was closer to him than Byleth would have liked; despite her size, the girl was fast. Her legs were like pistons as she barreled down the track, intent on moving out of second place.

“Think of how delightful that trophy will look in my study. I’ll treasure it, truly.”

Byleth shot him a dark look. “You can take the trophy from my cold, dead hands.”

Seteth just laughed at her, as if she’d said something funny.

“It’s too bad your new partner can’t help you more,” he said. “Maybe then you’d have a fighting chance.”

She grabbed another cup of eggnog, glaring at Seteth. 

Felix crossed the line a moment later, and she brought the cup to her lips, gulping it down without breaking eye contact. 

Seteth’s sneer wavered a hair, brows furrowing ever so slightly at her display. That was fear in his eyes; she could _see_ it. He wasn’t so confident, after all, was he? He was just goading her on.

She crumpled the cup in her hand, tossing it to Felix. 

“Eat my entire ass, Seteth,” she snapped.

And then she was off once again, the shocked look on Seteth’s face urging her on to even greater speeds than before. 

It was a mistake.

The sweet, sweet cocky adrenaline that had carried her through the first half of the lap turned to sticky, leaden despair on the second, her stomach protesting violently with each step that she took. The alcohol was starting to affect her, too, the edges of her senses fuzzing. It had started with the third cup, the effects hastened by running. She couldn’t quite feel her feet when they hit the track anymore, and the cadence of her breathing had taken a strange turn. She couldn’t quite get it under control, couldn’t _quite_ take a deep breath.

Laughing - she had the strangest sense that she was laughing.

But what was so funny?

Felix, she decided, that’s what was funny - the look he had on his face, halfway between despair and amused. 

Grumpy.

He was always so _grumpy._

She loved him so much.

“Are you okay?” he asked, holding out the fifth cup of eggnog.

“I’m _great,_ ” she replied, grasping for the cup. He didn’t relinquish his grip on it, raising an eyebrow at her.

“You’re not,” he said, snorting.

“Give me that,” she said.

He sighed, letting her have the drink. “If you fall on your ass, I’m not picking you up.”

“Yes, you will,” she retorted. 

She finished off the eggnog before he could launch another protest, shooing him off. They only had three laps to go now - no time for chit-chat.

As Felix ran, she sidled up to the table of eggnog, picking up her next cup. It slipped in her grasp, nearly splattering on the track. But she caught it at the last second, muffling a giggle into her hand. 

“Byleth? Are you alright?”

She turned - a little too fast, catching herself on the table - but who was watching? Just Flayn, and while she was approaching Byleth, clearly worried, she wasn’t the sort to tease.

“How much eggnog have you had?”

“Too much,” Byleth replied, candid as ever.

“Please, be careful. I don’t think they were measuring the alcohol content very carefully.”

The two volunteers manning the table gave Byleth sheepish expressions when she shot them an inquisitive look. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she demanded. 

“Happy holidays?” one offered, even as the other muttered a strangled, “ _T_ _rying?”_ under his breath.

“Oh dear,” Flayn muttered. “Maybe you should sit down-”

Flayn meant well. Byleth knew this. Flayn was goodness incarnate, a saint, altogether too pure for this world. She was only trying to prevent Byleth from, quite literally, falling over deadass drunk.

But in this instance, Flayn was the enemy. Flayn was her foe, her opponent, her Christmas nemesis, aiming to steal her victory from under her and the trophy from Jeralt’s mantlepiece. 

So she danced away from the girl’s outstretched hand, nearly taking out the entire table of eggnog as she twirled away, and made ready for her final lap.

_The final lap._

Goddess, she'd thought it would never get here.

Felix shot her a look as she downed the sixth glass of eggnog.

“You good?”

The last bit of goop got stuck to the inside rim, and she had to stick her tongue down into the cup to fetch it out. It took her an embarrassingly long amount of time, and once she’d finally cornered the beast, it had the nerve to fall off her tongue and splatter onto her face.

She swept the glob away with a thumb, then held that thumb up to Felix.

Disdain dripping from his features, Byleth grinned, even as she set off around the track. She was still smiling as she made the first turn, arms pumping wildly as she careened down the back stretch. 

She wasn’t running straight anymore, her body incapable of traveling in a neat line. Were she a little less drunk, she’d have been concerned. As it was, all she wanted to do was finish this damn thing and then smash a cup of eggnog in Seteth’s loser face.

Then she could go lie down and rethink her life decisions.

Her eyes on the prize, she tucked her head down and flat-out _sprinted._

Not her best move.

She nearly tripped over her own shoelaces as she came to a stop, barely saving herself from falling flat on her face. Then she stepped off the track into the grass and really _did_ fall, hands slamming down into the ground with more force than she intended.

“Fuck, Byleth,” Felix swore, coming down to see if she was okay. The seventh eggnog was in his hands, and she hastily snatched it. “Shit, don’t drink that-”

“I can do this,” she snapped back. 

“You are drunk-”

“I am _winning_ ,” she retorted. She waved a hand towards Seteth, still a quarter of a lap behind. “You’re squandering our lead, by the way.”

Felix rolled his eyes as she took two big gulps, forcing half the cup down at once. “You’re hopeless,” he corrected. “How do you even do that anyways?”

“What, drink?”

“You just - you just fucking _swallow_ and it’s gone.”

“It’s all about the throat space, Felix.” 

He snorted. “Pervert.”

“I don’t see you complaining when I blow you-”

He didn’t see fit to dignify that with a response. Having judged that she was nothing more than a little punchdrunk, he stood and walked back to the starting line. As soon as she’d thrown back the last of the eggnog, he started the final lap, Flayn just a few seconds behind him. 

Byleth’s eyes narrowed at Seteth, breathing hard across the track. He too had taken a seat, hands braced on his knees. He offered her a curt nod, acknowledgement of a fierce competitor; alcohol making her petty, she ignored it.

After a rough few attempts, she managed to stand, looking over towards the bleachers to try and find Jeralt and Alois. The latter was jumping up and down, foam finger dangerously close to slipping off his hand onto Jeralt’s head. Her father’s attention was, unsurprisingly, glued to Felix, his win streak depending on whether or not Felix finished this lap ahead of Flayn. If he lost-

Byleth smiled.

Felix wouldn’t lose.

She watched fondly as he rounded the final turn, his santa hat flapping in the wind as he sprinted for the finish line. She could hear the bells, jingling and jangling, with each stride. It would have been cute, if not for the look on his face - intense concentration, brows drawn down, eyes narrowed, intent upon the prize-

Out of nowhere, Flayn burst into view, drawing even with Felix in the final hundred meters. The crowd gasped, Seteth let out a most uncharacteristic whoop, and Byleth swore she heard Jeralt’s dreams die. 

But Felix wasn’t out of it just yet - he put on a burst of speed, not letting Flayn pass him, and together, they ran out the last bit of the race. First one would take the lead, and then the other; back and forth they went, both breathing hard, neither wanting to give up even an inch of a lead.

Then, at the very last second, just before the finish line, Felix ducked, thrusting his torso forward-

He crossed mere milliseconds before Flayn, by a fraction of a centimeter, and Byleth whooped, jumping up into the air before she remembered how much eggnog she’d consumed in the past ten minutes. She groaned, regretting everything, and when Felix ran up, the last cup of eggnog in his hands, she almost shit her pants. 

Figuratively.

Not literally.

“Drink!” he snapped, forcing the cup into her hands.

“I don’t want to,” she said.

“I did not-” he panted, “-just run a four hundred in a minute for you to wimp out now.”

“It tastes like feet.”

“Do it for Jeralt!”

_Jeralt._

Yes. For Jeralt. She could drink it for him, and their winning streak.

Across from her, Seteth was having similar difficulties. He was gulping at the eggnog as quickly as he could, but the grimace on his face betrayed him. 

Steeling herself, Byleth brought the cup to her lips. She took one final breath through her nose, one last gasp before the plunge, and then - she _drank._

Seteth, she had learned over the years, was many things.

A librarian.

A connoisseur of fine wines and cheese.

Surprisingly good at Guitar Hero.

But one thing he could not - _would_ not - do was chug alcohol. She’d seen him try to shotgun a beer, to disastrous results. The one time they’d offered to let him do a keg stand at one of their famous neighborhood barbecues, he’d politely declined. 

And so here, Byleth had him beat. 

The eggnog was gone in three seconds, and Byleth slammed her empty cup down on the table, throwing a hand into the air in victory. Cheers erupted all around her, the loudest and proudest coming from none other than Jeralt; sometime during the last lap, he’d hobbled over to the track, Alois hot on his trail. He came over to her now, giving her a gruff pat on the back even as the race directors put her winner’s medal around her neck.

“You did it!”

“Very impressive!” Alois agreed. “Though I’d expect nothing less of Jeralt’s daughter!”

“Eight cups of eggnog.” Jeralt shook his head, letting out a wry snort. “Gotta say, kid, think that’s a new record.”

“How do you feel?”

Byleth did a quick assessment, grabbing a hold of Jeralt’s arm as she swayed. “I hate eggnog,” she said finally. 

He laughed, throwing an arm over her shoulders.

“I never want to see it again.”

Felix snorted, and she turned towards him, quick as a whip.

“If you bring it into the house, I will murder you.”

“What would I buy eggnog for?” he demanded. “I don’t drink it.”

“Don’t play with me, Fraldarius.”

He rolled his eyes at her, his annoyance foiled by the fond smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “You’re drunk.”

“I am,” she agreed. She held up her medal, grinning. “But we won.”

“That, you did,” Jeralt agreed. He hesitated for a moment, shooting Felix a shrewd look; then he stuck his hand out in a peace offering. “Nice job, Felix.”

Felix took it. 

They hastily broke apart a moment later, before Alois could snap a picture and secure long-lasting photographic evidence of them bonding.

But some things, you didn’t need a picture for. Some things just stuck with you.

This was one of those times.

“So, who’s up for pancakes?” Alois asked, rubbing his hands together. 

Food sounded like both the best and worst suggestion anyone had ever made. 

“Rain check,” Byleth groaned. 

“Let the kid sleep it off,” Jeralt agreed. 

Alois shot the other man a most mournful look. “No cinna-stack flapjacks?”

Jeralt let out a long-suffering sigh. _“One_ stack. Then we're out. Get the car.” Alois let out a whoop of joy, and ran off as he was bid. Jeralt turned back towards Byleth and Felix, shaking his head. “Can I bring you kids anything? Hash browns? Toast?”

“Tacos,” Byleth said. “I want tacos.”

Felix shot her an affronted look. “Tacos and eggnog? Gross.”

“Kid knows her hangover foods. Tacos it is.” 

Byleth had to sit down after that, mustering up a pathetic wave as Jeralt clambered into Alois’ car. Felix sat with her, letting her breathe through her nose for a bit until she sobered up enough to walk back to their own vehicle. She even took the bottle of water he gave her, taking a few sips as she could. 

It helped more than she’d thought. 

Later, as she staggered back to her feet, balance mostly restored, she shot Felix a grateful look. “Hey, Felix.”

He stopped, keys halfway out of his fanny pack. “Mmm?”

“Thanks.”

He eyed her for a minute, as if confirming that she wasn’t still drunk, before letting out a soft snort. “Sure,” he said. 

“I’ll try not to throw up in your car.”

“You’ll _try_?”

She stepped forward, taking the hand he offered her. “I’ll try my hardest.”

“You better.” 

He darted forward, pressing a swift kiss to her forehead. Byleth leaned in, savoring the contact - it was so rare that Felix was openly affectionate like this, preferring to keep that sort of thing for when they were in private. She didn’t mind, mostly; she was much the same.

But sometimes, she thought, it was nice. 

It was nice to huddle close to someone in the cold, their hand grasped in yours, their lips pressed against your skin.

He pulled away, arching an eyebrow. Already, she missed his touch.

“Home?”

She nodded, curling their fingers together. 

“Home.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Alois' second sweater option was going to have a gingerbread man on it and read "Looking Like a Snack". It was a close call. 
> 
> Big shoutout to the Felileth discord server for providing the inspiration for this fic, support for all Felileth shenanigans, and in general being awesome people <3


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